What do you think? Honestly.

I see in shades that others do not. I dont know why other people yell at me for being honest. I see and hear the demons of the world but no one beleives me, and still I am afraid. In being afraid I do not see this as weakness. I only see a reason to move onward. It cannot be as bad as it seems. Things will get worse only because they can. They always do. Kick 'em when they're down, right pall?! We always know that things will get worse before they get better. If it were not for that fact I think the human race would have died out lone ago. But why do we continue. If it were not for the worry of what will happen to our immortal souls, most of which are going to hell no matter how many good deeds we do, would be still be going? Would Constantine have even made the holy roman empire if it weren't for him thinking that someone else may be right. Trying to controll those you rule by fear. You may not even know what you're doing wrong, but because you are you will not be entering whatever form of heaven you believe in, but your hell may be better than you think to begin.

To those who still believe we are here.

Could you imagine what it would be like for me to kill you? I have killed before, though not against my will. It was easy. It was fun. Could you imagine what it would be like to stand in the line of fire and look those shooting at you in the face as you pull your loved ones out of the flames. This would hurt most. But we all have our demons. Could you stay sane if you had the thoughts of eight other people in your head. The thoughts of a mother, a child, a killer, a fighter. These things alone would drive most insane.

What I think is that first things first, you need to give it a title. A poem/story's title is intricately entwined with the piece itself; it's the first thing a prospective reader sees upon coming across an author's prose, and it's the last thing they'll remember, too (even if they forget the prose itself five minutes after finishing it, chances are good that the title will remain in their head for a long time after).

Not naming a piece, to me, is simple laziness.

As for the piece itself, I have a few questions of my own - chief amongst them being "What on earth is this?" Poetry has a few structural requirements before it can be counted as such, and a story needs, you know, a story. Reflective prose is all very well (even if it's fictional - you haven't actually killed a person, have you? If that's not fiction, then you need help), but the innermost workings of one's mind are not terribly interesting to most.

In addition to my confusion about where you actually wanted to go with this, I have a few issues with the text itself. There are a few misused words ('pall', for instance, is a synonym for words such as 'wither'. I think the words you were looking for is 'pal'), as well as one or two rather bold statements that some might take offence to. My main gripe was this one:

If it were not for the worry of what will happen to our immortal souls, most of which are going to hell no matter how many good deeds we do, would be still be going?

To include a statement of that weight, you have to cast aside the notion that there might just be a few types here who don't believe in the immortal soul, or the existence of Hell. Seeing as I happen to be just such a type, we've got problems with objectivity right off the bat.

I think that you could have gone further with this piece, It almost seemed like two different bits of work thrown together and the pairing of the two didn't really make sense. But hey... Rome wasn't built in a day was it?